Inaya Ali Shah POV
The morning light spilled softly across her room, but it did nothing to lighten the heaviness in her chest. She blinked her eyes open, feeling the stiffness from a restless sleep. Last night's tension still clung to her like a shadow.
She rose from her bed, stretching, and moved to perform her usual morning exercises. Each breath was deliberate, controlled—an attempt to anchor herself before the storm she knew was coming.
After finishing, she showered and dressed in a neat pastel kurta with white palazzo, tying her hair back into a simple braid. A quick glance in the mirror reminded her: steel yourself. Today would not be easy.
By the time she reached the hall, the family was already gathered. Dadi sat sternly on the sofa, Baba and Uncle at the head of the table, and Mom and her aunt moved busily between the kitchen and table. Saad had already left for college.
Inaya sat quietly, trying to mask the weight of last night's turmoil. But as soon as her mother approached, she knew it wouldn't be simple.
"Beta," her mother said softly, carrying a cup of tea, "after breakfast, you'll need to get ready. Zeeshan and his family are coming this evening."
Inaya froze. Her fork hovered mid-air. "They're… coming? To fix the engagement?"
Her mother nodded, avoiding her gaze. "Yes, Inaya. We thought—after everything—it's time. The engagement should happen properly."
Her chest tightened. Panic and old resentment bubbled up. "I don't want this!" she said sharply, setting her fork down.
Her father's voice rose from across the table, firm but restrained. "Inaya, this is what's best for you. For the family."
"For me?" she spat, eyes flashing. "Or for you?"
Her aunt leaned forward, voice icy. "You think you have a choice? After everything your actions have cost—"
"Stop!" Inaya slammed her hand on the table, the sound echoing. "Stop blaming me for things I didn't do! This engagement—this entire plan—isn't about me. It's about controlling me!"
Her grandfather cleared his throat, attempting to regain order. "Inaya, you will speak respectfully. This is for the honor of the family."
"Honor?" she laughed bitterly, her voice trembling with anger. "You call this honor? Forcing me into a marriage with someone I barely know? Forcing me to forgive people who ignored my pain for ten years?"
Her grandmother's eyes narrowed. "You have no right to speak to your elders this way, young lady. You will learn to respect decisions made for your own good."
Inaya stood abruptly, chair scraping loudly against the floor. "My good? You think I'm happy with any of this? With pretending to be okay? With letting someone else decide my life?"
Her mother stepped forward, voice calm but pleading. "Inaya, beta, we only want what's right—"
"No!" she interrupted sharply. "You only want what's right for you! And now you're dragging Zeeshan into it too. You don't even know if I want him, or if I can even look at him without remembering how this family tried to destroy me!"
Her father's face flushed with frustration. "Enough! You will sit, eat, and prepare for the evening! That's final!"
Tears brimmed in her eyes. "I won't play along. I won't let anyone decide my life while pretending it's for my benefit. I'm tired of pretending. Tired of obeying. Tired of being… nothing!"
The hall fell silent. Even if Saad were there, he would have felt the tension crackling like electricity.
Her aunt scoffed. "You've always been reckless. Now you're showing the world exactly who you are."
Inaya's gaze sharpened, voice low and dangerous. "And who I am is someone who won't be controlled. Not by you. Not by anyone. You can plan the engagement all you want. I'll attend—but on my terms. Or not at all."
Her grandfather's expression hardened. "Do not think you can defy the family forever, Inaya."
Inaya's lips curled into a bitter smile. "I don't need forever. I just need today—to breathe, to choose, to exist without being judged."
Her mother's eyes glistened with helplessness, her father's jaw was tight, and the room felt suffocating, filled with anger, disbelief, and the weight of unyielding tradition.
With deliberate calm, Inaya rose from her chair. Every eye followed her, but she didn't care.
She walked past her family, each step measured, echoing softly against the marble floor. Her chest ached with anger and frustration, but also with the relief of taking control of something—anything—her own.
She didn't turn back at her grandmother's piercing glare, nor at her aunt's muttered complaints, nor at her father's helpless exasperation.
Her mother opened her mouth, likely to call her, but Inaya disappeared into her room before any words could follow. She closed the door softly, the click of the lock sealing her away from the suffocating expectations of the hall.
Leaning against her door, she let the silence wash over her. Her hands trembled slightly—not from weakness, but from the intensity of emotions she refused to show outside.
Somewhere in the hall, her mother sighed softly. "Bring her breakfast to her room… she won't come down today," she murmured, torn between frustration and understanding.
Inaya sank onto her bed, letting herself breathe for the first time that morning. Anger, hurt, and a strange sense of relief coursed through her. For now, at least, she had reclaimed a small corner of control—her sanctuary.
Later that evening…
The Khan family arrived. Zeeshan entered first, polite and composed, but his eyes never left Inaya.
The formalities began—handshakes, polite smiles, curt nods—but Inaya felt the weight of expectations pressing down.
Her father cleared his throat. "Let's fix the engagement date. How about the first week of next month?"
Inaya's lips curved into a measured, calm smile, voice steady. "Actually, I have several office commitments and ongoing projects. It would be unfair to everyone if I'm distracted. Perhaps a later date would allow me to prepare properly."
Her mother frowned. "Inaya, this isn't just about you—"
"I know," Inaya interrupted, voice firm. "It's about all of us. But if the engagement is to be meaningful, it should be done with thought and respect—not rushed, not forced, and certainly not decided without my input."
Zeeshan shifted slightly, surprise flickering in his eyes. He hadn't expected such poised defiance.
Her aunt sneered, "You think you can control this? A family decision?"
Inaya tilted her head, smile soft but dangerous. "I don't control the family, aunt. I control myself. Until I'm ready, I will not consent. That is my choice."
A tense silence filled the room. Eyes darted between her and Zeeshan.
He leaned forward, voice low and deliberate: "She's right. An engagement shouldn't feel like an order. If this is to happen, it should be done with respect—and agreement—not fear or pressure."
The room stiffened. Her grandmother's lips pressed into a thin line. Even her mother looked conflicted.
Inaya held Zeeshan's gaze, letting unspoken words pass between them: I am not yours. Not yet. But I am here. And no one can decide for me.
Finally, she nodded gracefully. "If we want this engagement to mean anything, we should plan a date that allows everyone—including me—to step into it willingly. Not because it's convenient for others."
Zeeshan's dark eyes softened fractionally. For the first time, the power in the room subtly shifted—toward her.
The sound of wheels echoed outside. Inaya's heart skipped.
"Zeeshan's here," her mother whispered.
He entered, polished and controlled, but the tension in his eyes betrayed him. His gaze landed on Inaya, taking in the defiance and fire in her stance.
"You look… defiant," he murmured almost to himself.
Inaya didn't answer. Her silence spoke louder than any words.
Omar Khan stepped forward politely. "Inaya, we are here to discuss the engagement—"
Her grandfather cleared his throat. "Yes. Tonight."
Inaya gripped her chair firmly. "I am not a pawn in anyone's plan. This engagement is not happening tonight—or ever—if it's about controlling me rather than respecting me."
Her aunt gasped. "How dare you speak to them like that!"
"I dare," Inaya said, meeting her gaze. "Because I've spent ten years being quiet. Watching people decide my life. Not anymore."
Zeeshan's eyes flickered—anger, admiration, something unreadable. He stepped closer, commanding the room without raising his voice.
"Inaya…" he began, low, deliberate.
"Don't," she cut him off, voice cold. "Don't smooth this over with calm demeanor. Don't pretend your silence is agreement. I am not yours to defend, or anyone else's to decide for."
Omar Khan frowned. "She's being disrespectful. You should—"
"No," Zeeshan's voice cut like steel. "She speaks the truth. And I… I won't let anyone bully her, not here, not ever."
Inaya blinked, surprised by the support—but masked the flicker of relief in her chest. She couldn't rely on him—not yet.
Her grandmother leaned forward. "Inaya Ali Shah, you will show respect to your elders!"
She stood abruptly. "Respect is earned, not demanded! Forcing me into a marriage I don't agree to is not respect—it's control!"
Zeeshan's jaw tightened, sensing her heart pounding across the room. His instincts screamed to step forward, but he stayed, contained and deliberate.
Her mother tried again, trembling, "Beta… think of the family. Think of peace."
"I think of myself!" Inaya yelled. "For once, I'm thinking about the girl who's been crushed by silence, blame, and lies. I will not give her up—not to anyone. Not to tradition. Not to fear!"
The room fell silent, her words hanging like lightning in the air.
Zeeshan stepped forward, slow, deliberate, stopping a few feet away. His voice low, almost a growl:
"You think I don't feel it too? The way they've tried to strip you of yourself? The way they've tried to break you?"
"I don't need your pity," she snapped.
"I'm not giving pity," he said. "I'm telling you that if anyone tries to force this—anyone—there will be consequences. I won't wait for permission to act."
For the first time, Inaya felt the tension shift—not just anger, but a dangerous, unspoken current.
Her heartbeat thudded. She wanted to look away, to defy him—but his presence made her pulse race.
Her voice softened slightly, but she kept her guard up. "Zeeshan… this is my life. You can't fix what my family tried to break. And you can't force me to feel anything."
"I'm not forcing you," he whispered. "I'm just… telling you I'm here. And if you fall, I'll be there—not to control you, not to decide—but to make sure no one hurts you like they did."
Inaya straightened, chin lifted. "Then stay there. Watch. But don't think anyone—anyone—decides for me again."
Zeeshan nodded once, acknowledging her defiance.
The rest of the family stared, unsure how to respond. One thing was clear: Inaya Ali Shah would not bend. And Zeeshan Khan was already standing beside her in a way no one could understand.
The room was charged, a storm waiting to break, and neither of them blinked
The room emptied slowly, the elders muttering under their breath, some in frustration, others in awkward silence. Chairs scraped lightly against the floor, footsteps echoing down the hall. The hum of the palace returned, leaving Inaya and Zeeshan alone in the quiet after the storm.
Inaya leaned back against her chair, still gripping the edges, eyes sharp, chest still tight from adrenaline. The weight of her defiance lingered, but now it mingled with something else—a strange awareness that Zeeshan wasn't retreating, that he hadn't left.
He remained where he had stood, a few feet away, dark eyes fixed on her like he was measuring her, understanding her in a way no one else ever had.
"Why are you still here?" she asked quietly, voice low, calm, though her heart betrayed her with a rapid, uneven thump.
"I could ask you the same thing," he replied evenly, though his voice held an edge of intensity. "I'm not leaving. Not until I know you're okay."
Inaya's lips twitched in a half-smile. "Okay? After today? You really think anyone leaves this room 'okay'?"
He stepped closer, slow, deliberate. The air between them thickened, heavy with unspoken words, and the faint scent of his cologne brushed her senses. "Not okay," he admitted softly, "but protected. At least from them."
Her chest tightened further. "I don't need protection," she said sharply, but her voice faltered slightly, betraying the faint tremor of relief.
He stopped just short of the table, eyes locked on hers, unblinking. "Not from anyone who has no right to control you. You do that yourself. But I'll be there… if you let me."
Inaya swallowed hard, trying to regain her composure. She straightened, chin high, and allowed a small, measured smile. "I don't know if I want anyone in my space right now. Especially you."
He tilted his head slightly, lips quirking with the faintest smirk. "That's fine. I'm patient."
For a moment, the room was silent except for the soft ticking of the clock. The tension from the earlier argument hadn't left—it had merely shifted. Now it hummed between them, more intimate, more dangerous, more personal.
Her gaze softened fractionally, though she didn't let him see. "I can't… not after everything," she whispered, almost to herself. "I can't trust that anyone will act right."
"I don't expect you to," he said quietly, voice low enough for only her to hear. "But I'm not like the others. And you will know it, when the time comes."
She blinked, words catching in her throat. She wanted to argue, to retreat, to maintain the distance she had fought so hard to preserve—but something in his presence made her pause. Made her think about the power of choice she had reclaimed, and how rare it was to meet someone who understood it without trying to claim it.
"You think you can stand beside me without taking control?" she asked, voice steadier now, challenging him.
He smiled faintly, dark, almost dangerous. "I don't take. I stay. That's the difference."
Inaya let the words hang in the air between them. The room felt smaller now, charged with quiet defiance, mutual understanding, and the dangerous electricity of unspoken desire.
For the first time that evening, she allowed herself to breathe fully—not in fear, not in anger—but in anticipation.
Zeeshan's gaze lingered on her for a long moment before he finally stepped back, giving her the space she demanded—but never leaving entirely.
The sound of the palace settling into quiet echoed through the halls. And in that quiet, Inaya realized something important: she wasn't alone in this fight. And for now, that was enough.
Her heart still beat rapidly, chest still tight, but a small, private thrill flickered through her—a spark that would not be extinguished, no matter what plans anyone else made.
And Zeeshan, standing a few steps away, could feel the same spark, though he would never admit it aloud. Not yet.
The storm had passed for now—but both of them knew: this was only the beginning. and with that she go to her room
Inaya Ali Shah POV
The room was entirely, leaving only the soft echo of departing footsteps and the faint scent of jasmine lingering from the living room. Inaya exhaled slowly, running a hand over her face, trying to calm the storm inside her.
A soft knock came at her door. She stiffened.
"Who is it?" she asked cautiously.
"Me," came the low, controlled voice of Zeeshan.
Her heart skipped, but she refused to show it. "Come in," she said, keeping her tone even, almost cold.
He stepped inside quietly, closing the door behind him without a sound. His presence filled the room—not overpowering, but impossible to ignore.
"You could have waited outside," she said, crossing her arms. "You're already making things complicated."
"I didn't come to complicate," he replied, voice calm but firm. "I came to make sure you're alright. And to make sure no one forced anything today that they shouldn't have."
She studied him carefully. He wasn't here to argue—not yet—but there was an intensity in his gaze, like he was reading her, measuring her, understanding her in a way no one else could.
"I'm fine," she said finally, though her voice wavered slightly. "I always am. I handle things myself."
"I know," he said softly, almost a whisper. "And that's why I'm here. Because I respect that. Because I know you don't need anyone to fight for you—but I also know the world isn't always fair."
Her eyes narrowed. "So, you're here as a guardian now? My protector?"
"No," he said, shaking his head slightly. "Not a protector. Not a savior. Someone who refuses to let anyone cross you while you decide what's best for yourself. That's all. And nothing more."
The words hit her differently. They weren't controlling, they weren't possessive. They were… precise. Measured. Respectful.
"And what makes you think I need you to stand beside me?" she asked, testing him.
"Because," he said slowly, "even the strongest person sometimes needs someone who sees the fight inside them. Someone who doesn't try to take it away, but simply acknowledges it. And I see it, Inaya. I see you."
Her chest tightened, but she refused to look away. "Seeing doesn't mean interfering."
"I don't interfere," he whispered. "I observe. I wait. I step in only when I absolutely must. You set the terms. I… respect them."
For a long moment, silence filled the room. She could feel the tension between them—the unspoken acknowledgment that neither was giving ground, yet both were drawn into the same orbit, unable to ignore the pull.
"You understand, don't you?" she asked quietly. "That I won't be anyone's pawn. That I won't pretend for anyone. Not for family. Not for tradition. Not for… anyone."
"I do," he said firmly. "And I won't ask you to. That's why I'm here. Not to persuade you, not to control you, not to judge you. Just to… ensure you're heard. And that you're safe while you decide."
Her gaze softened fractionally, though she didn't let it show fully. "Safe," she repeated, testing the word, tasting it. "You make it sound… almost like trust."
"Almost," he said, a faint, dry smile brushing his lips. "But trust isn't given lightly. And I don't want it lightly. You decide when it's earned. I'll wait."
Inaya exhaled slowly, her chest finally easing a fraction. The room felt a little lighter, the tension less suffocating. He hadn't crossed her boundaries, hadn't forced his presence. Yet somehow, just being there, watching, listening, acknowledging—had shifted something inside her.
"Alright," she said finally, her voice calm but firm. "I'll handle the engagement on my terms. And you… stay out of the chaos. Unless it's necessary."
Zeeshan's eyes darkened, a mixture of respect and something unspoken flickering in them. "I won't step in without your permission," he said. "But… I won't step back either. Not if it matters to you."
The words hung between them, charged, heavy, intimate. She didn't answer. She didn't need to. The understanding had passed in the silence, in the glances, in the unspoken acknowledgment of battle lines drawn—but together in their own way.
He nodded once, a subtle promise, and then stepped back toward the door. "I'll leave you to prepare. But… know this," he paused, his voice low and steady, "you don't have to face this alone."
The door closed softly behind him.
Inaya exhaled, sinking onto her chair, letting her hands cover her face for a moment. For the first time in days, a small spark of calm settled in her chest. She was still defiant. Still independent. Still herself.
But for the first time, she didn't feel completely alone.
Zeeshan khan pov
The house was unusually quiet when I stepped inside, the exhaustion of the day clinging to my shoulders. I loosened my tie, exhaled slowly—and then I saw my mother waiting in the lounge, her expression… pleased.
That alone made my pulse shift.
"Zeeshan," she said warmly, standing up. "You're home early today."
I nodded absently. "Long meetings," I replied, moving toward the stairs.
She stopped me with her next words.
"We're going to Inaya's house tomorrow evening."
I froze.
Slowly, I turned back to her. "Tomorrow?"
She smiled. "Yes. Your father spoke to her family. It's time we fix the engagement date."
For a second, I forgot how to breathe.
Something warm, electric, almost childish exploded inside my chest.
Inaya. Mine. Finally.
A laugh escaped me before I could stop it—low, disbelieving. "You're serious?"
My mother chuckled. "Why do you look like a child who's just been given his favorite candy?"
Because that's exactly what it felt like.
"I've waited long enough," I said, voice tight with emotion. "I won't lose her now."
She studied me carefully. "Zeeshan… you must be patient with her. Inaya is sensitive."
Sensitive.
I smiled faintly. "I know exactly what she is."
Stubborn. Defiant. Beautifully troublesome.
And mine.
I went up to my room, changed into comfortable clothes, and collapsed onto the bed—but sleep refused to come.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw her.
Her defiance. Her fire. The way she looked at me like I was both the problem and the solution.
I stared at the ceiling, arms folded beneath my head, a slow smile forming on my lips.
"You think you can escape me?" I murmured into the darkness. "You think you can run forever?"
I turned onto my side, gripping the pillow.
"She'll try something," I admitted quietly. "She always does."
Inaya Ali Shah was not the kind of woman who accepted fate quietly. She fought. She challenged. She broke rules like they were nothing.
And that was exactly why I loved her.
"I'm ready," I whispered, eyes darkening. "Whatever game you plan to play… I'll play it better."
The clock ticked loudly in the silence.
One hour passed. Then another.
Sleep never came.
Only anticipation.
Only certainty.
"Tomorrow," I said firmly, as if making a vow.
"Tomorrow, everything changes."
I closed my eyes, finally allowing the truth to settle deep inside my chest.
She could fight. She could resist. She could try to run.
But in the end—
Inaya Ali Shah was going to be mine.
No matter what it took. 🖤
Inaya Ali Shah POV
The night was quiet, the palace garden bathed in silver moonlight. Inaya stood by her open window, arms resting lightly on the railing. Her eyes were fixed on the sky, the stars scattered like scattered pieces of her thoughts.
She let herself think—truly think—for the first time in years. About the engagement, about Zeeshan, about the expectations pressing down on her, suffocating her.
And then she realized it.
She didn't have feelings for Zeeshan.
Her chest tightened slightly—not with loss, but with clarity. "So… that's it," she whispered to herself. "I… I'm free of him… free of wanting him."
Her mind wandered, unwillingly, to someone else. Someone who had always made her feel… safe. Warm. Alive. Armaan.
Her lips curved into the tiniest, private smile. She could feel it—just thinking about him made her heart lighter. "With him…" she murmured softly, "I feel… safe. I feel happy."
For a moment, she let herself linger in that feeling, letting the wind brush against her cheeks like a gentle caress.
Unbeknownst to her, Armaan stood in the shadows of the garden, a few steps behind, his breath shallow. He had come quietly, almost instinctively drawn to her light. She didn't know he was there, watching.
"I thought I was being careful," he muttered under his breath, voice barely audible to himself. "But even in the shadows… she shines too brightly."
Inaya tilted her head toward the sky, sighing softly. "I can't… I can't force myself to feel something I don't feel. Not for Zeeshan. Not for anyone."
Armaan's lips twitched into a small smile, but his eyes were serious, intense. "Good," he whispered. "Because I can't—won't—share her heart with anyone else."
She shivered slightly as a cool breeze passed, unaware that his gaze followed her every movement.
"I… I should let go of the past," she said quietly. "Stop blaming myself. Stop pretending I owe anyone—"
"You don't owe anyone, Inaya," Armaan's voice cut softly through the air, steady, protective, calm. She froze, her body instinctively tensing.
Her head turned slightly, but the shadows kept him hidden. "Who's there?" she asked, cautious.
"It's me," he said quietly, stepping closer but staying in the dark. "I'm… just here. Watching. Making sure you're safe."
Her chest raced slightly—not from fear, but from something deeper, something unspoken. "Armaan…" she whispered, a note of relief in her voice. "I… I didn't know you were here."
He smiled faintly, his voice low and teasing yet tender. "I've always been around, Inaya. You just never noticed."
She shook her head, letting out a soft laugh that was more nervous than amused. "I… I've been thinking… about everything. About Zeeshan, about my life. And I… I realized… I don't have feelings for him."
There was a pause. Armaan's heartbeat quickened slightly, but he kept his voice steady. "And for me?" he asked, careful, measured.
Her eyes sparkled faintly in the moonlight as she spoke softly, almost to herself: "With you… I feel… safe. I feel… happy. I don't know what tomorrow will bring, but… I know this. I trust this."
Armaan's lips curved into a smile, unseen by her. "Then I'll stay," he whispered, almost to the wind. "I'll stay… as long as it takes."
Inaya exhaled, closing her eyes, letting the calm wash over her. She didn't see him step back into the shadows, silently observing, silently promising. She only saw the sky, the stars, the soft night air—and for the first time in a long time, she felt truly at peace.
Armaan remained still, his heart full, knowing she hadn't realized he was near—but that didn't matter. Just knowing she was safe, that she was hers in spirit, was enough… for now.
The breeze whispered through the balcony, and Inaya closed her eyes, savoring the calm. For a moment, the world felt distant—her worries, her family, Zeeshan's expectations—all muted.
Then, a faint movement caught her attention. A shadow shifting in the garden below. Her eyes opened, scanning instinctively.
"Who's there?" she called softly, heart skipping a beat.
"Me," a low, familiar voice answered.
Her breath caught. She squinted into the darkness and saw him—Armaan—standing just a few steps from the balcony, his presence calm yet commanding. The moonlight outlined him, tall, broad-shouldered, his gaze fixed entirely on her.
"You…" she whispered, almost in disbelief. "You were… here all along?"
Armaan stepped forward, carefully, like he didn't want to startle her. "I told you I'd stay. Didn't I?" His voice was steady, but there was a softness in his eyes she hadn't seen in years.
Inaya's chest tightened. She wanted to say something clever, something defiant—but words failed her. "I… I didn't know. I thought… I thought you'd left."
He shook his head gently. "Not a chance. I've never left you. Even when you couldn't see me, I was here."
Her gaze fell to the ground, voice barely audible. "I've been so lost… so scared… I didn't even know what I wanted."
Armaan's expression softened, a small, reassuring smile tugging at his lips. "And now?" he asked, stepping slightly closer, the light of the moon catching in his hazel eyes. "Now do you?"
She hesitated, heart hammering against her ribs. "…I feel… safe. I feel… happy," she admitted, her voice trembling slightly, "and I… I trust that feeling."
He smiled wider, though it was restrained. "Good," he said, voice low, almost a growl, "because that feeling? That's all that matters. I'll protect it. I'll protect you. Always."
Her fingers twitched on the railing. She could feel his energy, his presence, the way he carried her unspoken weight without saying a word. She wanted to step back, to maintain distance—but instead, she found herself leaning slightly forward, drawn to him, even though she didn't fully understand why.
"I… I don't know what comes next," she whispered, almost to herself.
Armaan tilted his head, eyes locking with hers. "Then we figure it out together. No one else matters right now. Not Zeeshan, not anyone. Only us."
Her lips parted, and for the first time in years, she allowed herself to truly breathe. The tension that had gripped her chest all day loosened slightly, and a small, honest smile appeared.
"Only us," she repeated, as if saying it aloud made it real.
Armaan's hand hovered in the air, close enough she could feel the warmth radiating from him. But he didn't touch her—not yet. He let her decide.
"I'm here," he said softly, his voice both a promise and a warning. "I won't leave you again. Not for anything."
Inaya swallowed, feeling the weight of his words, feeling the pull she had resisted for so long. Her heart raced, her pulse quickened. "Then… stay," she whispered, almost a plea.
Armaan's lips curved into a small, victorious smile. "I'm not going anywhere," he said, his eyes softening but burning with something fierce beneath the surface.
For a long moment, they simply stood there, two silhouettes against the silver night, hearts beating in quiet synchronization. The world outside—the palace, expectations, Zeeshan, the family—faded into nothing.
And for the first time in a long time, Inaya Ali Shah felt… free.